Expecting Trouble
by scousemuz1k
Summary: A Lieutenant Commander is accused of murder, and goes missing. His pregnant wife doesn't believe it. The team must find the truth, and the missing man, quickly.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Well, the Tour de France is over; to alleviate my withdrawal symptoms I'm writing again. I just want to mention a couple of things in the US v UK English debate. I will continue to use English spelling, since my heritage is important to me.**

**Since I'm writing in an American fandom, however, I will use American expressions wherever I'm aware of a difference; for example, a saloon car with a boot and a bonnet will be a sedan car with a trunk and a hood. Where I use an English expression and there's an American one that suits better, sure, let me know. Like, the visitor we used to call the District Nurse, who is now known as the Practice Nurse; I have no idea what she's called in the USA.**

**But as far as I'm concerned, there really doesn't need to be a debate. We're the same, and we're different, and neither the similarity nor the difference hurts anyone. Let's enjoy both.**

**ESCD is a figment, although I think places like it probably exist.**

**Oh, and I don't own or profit from, except in good friendship, anything to do with NCIS.**

Expecting Trouble

by scousemuz1k

chapter 1

Polly Hastings sang to herself, 'Scarborough Fair', as she fetched the rotary drier out from the garage, and found the hole in the lawn to slot it in. She folded the arms out, gave it a playful whack, and left it spinning as she went back into the utility room to fetch the washing basket.

She'd been a good girl, and left half the load in the machine, so as not to have too much to lift, although she thought ruefully that the more often she had to make two trips, the more tired she'd be, but she was doing what the Practice Nurse had told her when she'd called. Patch would be proud. She laughed aloud to herself as she stooped, with difficulty, to round up a stray pair of pants; a couple of years ago she'd never have imagined herself like this, a picture of domesticity; and if she had, she'd have assumed it was a nightmare, had the screaming bejabers, and woken up in a cold sweat.

"Career woman, look at yourself now," she chuckled. "Married, pregnant – very pregnant – and hanging out the washing. And _happy_ about it!" Bang on cue, Lucy kicked her, and she rubbed her substantial bump. She was still singing as she carried the basket outside.

She had a perfectly good drier right alongside the washer, but she believed in being green and not wasting energy; anyway, it was a perfect drying day. She was as excited as blazes, and nothing could bring her down just then. She was belting out stuff from her classical repertoire by now, carried away on Saint-Saens 'Softly awakes my heart', and when her throaty mezzo got to the wheedling 'Ah, once again then say you adore me' bit, a voice from the other side of the hedge said cheerfully, "Well, I would, li'l girl, but Sylvia would kill me!"

"Oh, hello, Spence," Polly broke off her spirited performance to greet her retired neighbour.

"Someone's happy. When does Neil get back, then?"

"Tomorrow!" Polly almost shouted it.

"You must be looking forward to it so much, gal," Joe Spencer said fondly. He and Sylvia liked their younger neighbour, and were looking forward to being honorary grandparents.

"Oh, yeah," Polly said with a smile. "He's already back in the US," she went on. "But the deal was, that he'd go straight to his old posting in Norfolk, spend three days checking over things, and settling in, and then he could have open ended leave. His reward for going overseas for so long when he'd already done four tours. It's got me on pins, knowing he's that close after so long. If I weren't so uncomfy behind the wheel, and if I didn't know they wouldn't be too pleased about me going and distracting Patch, I'd have just jumped in the car and headed over to Norfolk to see him… but I've waited seven months…" She patted her unborn child gently. "Lucy and I have waited seven months… we can wait another night."

Tony smiled quietly to himself as the team car neared its destination. Tim noticed, and risked asking, since they weren't going to be in the vehicle much longer.

"Told yourself a joke, Tony?"

The SFA grinned more broadly. "Well, no, McGiggle. I was just thinking about our little drug sniffing pup friend –"

"Blossom?"

"Yeah. Would she love this place or hate it? Go into olfactory overload? Or is the stuff here packed up so tightly she couldn't smell it anyway? Now, were the thoughts of DiNozzo worth sharing?"

Now Tim grinned. "Er…quite. I'd defy even a little wizard like her to sniff through a blister pack … you're right, ending pointless conversation now."

The NCIS sedan pulled up at a robust metal gate, and all four agents showed their ID to the camera. The establishment was modest by comparison with other military premises, but the security was tight. One building, small warehouse size, with only office windows, heavily barred, on the ground floor, and none on the upper floors. Indeed from the outside it was impossible to tell whether it was one or two storeys. One tall one, Ziva decided.

One loading bay was central to the longer side of the building; there was no way that someone could suddenly appear round a corner and take a driver by surprise. The bay was currently closed by a heavy steel roller door, and a camera set into the high brick wall opposite was permanently trained on it. There were other cameras strategically placed to cover every area; the high steel fence of three walls, and the brick of the fourth were crowned with razor wire, and the automatic gate that was currently trundling open was controlled from inside the building.

"Well," Ziva said thoughtfully, observing it all, "They do not intend to be robbed."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the others, but there was no need for comment; they all knew what was stored here; and the morphine alone that was inside the building would have been worth a fortune on the black market. This was the Eastern Seaboard Central Distribution Centre for the US Navy and Marines, where every drug, medication, field dressing or piece of equipment, from an aspirin to an MRI, was held until its destination was decided on. There was another such centre on the west coast, and a third in Hawaii. Wounded or sick seaborne personnel all over the world depended on this place.

And now someone had died here – murdered, they'd been told, and nothing could move in or out until NCIS said so. There was a faint, but noticeable air of resentment as the MCRT entered the building; although nobody said a word, but DiNozzo's antennae went up right away when the Master Chief who greeted them didn't offer to shake hands with Gibbs. The Boss was in neutral mode, not scary, but if the MCPO was hoping to intimidate by his attitude, he was going to be disappointed.

"Master Chief Hank Sheard, Sir," he said, standing almost to attention. He was a man approaching middle age, thickset, with sandy hair and an intelligent face, currently only one step away from a scowl. Gibbs looked at him in mild puzzlement.

"At _ease_, Master Chief," he said reasonably. "And don't call me sir." Behind him, the whole team's lips synchronised with his. In the background, several other people hovered anxiously; each member of the team independently checked them out, without even looking as if they were interested. Gibbs introduced the others briefly. "Now, what have you got?"

The MCPO grunted, "This way." He led them through the office block, and used an iris scanner to open an inconspicuous door. Behind it, the warehouse opened out, and Ziva realised, with a brief, pleased smile that she'd been right; it had no separate floors beyond the office section. The ranks of storage racks went up the full twenty feet to the ceiling, and as well as an automatic retrieval system, there were electric platform carts for staff to access the higher shelves.

They walked at right angles to the long rows, until at the far end a different set-up came into sight. Down one side of the building, fifteen feet up, ran a balcony with a walkway and railing. Up there were stored what looked like archives. The space underneath was where the carts were stored when not in use, each with its own recharging point; but of more interest right now about that space was the cart that had been left carelessly half-way out of its slot, and the body that was draped over the basket.

Petty Officer Second Class Richard Knox had landed on his back across the basket, and lay with head, arms and legs dangling, eyes open and staring. For a moment nobody moved, taking in the sight, then Tony took a rapid series of photos, stepped forward, reached up and closed the glazed eyes. "Ducky won't mind," he said shortly, to no-one in particular.

Gibbs flicked him a sideways glance, but made no comment. They both remembered Kate. "OK, Master Chief," the Boss said calmly. "Explain to me why you're sure this was murder."

"I beg your pardon, Si- Special Agent Gibbs?"

"What makes you so certain that this wasn't an accident? As a murder method it's hit and miss. Perfectly possible to survive; he probably would have if he hadn't landed on that basket. Why murder?"

"Because Lieutenant Commander Hastings has gone missing, Agent Gibbs."

Tony frowned to himself. Why not 'has disappeared'? Or just 'is missing'? The phrase used by the MCPO implied deliberately absent.

"Has _gone_ missing?" he asked, matching his Boss's reasonable, but mildly disbelieving tone note for note.

"He was here earlier on. He argued with PO2 Knox. Now his car's missing, and so's he," Master Chief Sheard said, his voice taking on a slightly belligerent inflection. He didn't like this team's leader very much, but he'd taken a bigger dislike to the big, smart-arse agent with the knowing green eyes.

"What time did he leave?" the tall guy asked him, totally unruffled.

"How would I know?"

"Well, I'm thinking you'd probably have checked your camera log? For the front gate?" He changed tack, since the lack of reply suggested the man was on the back foot, and keeping him there might jiggle loose some answers that might not be forthcoming otherwise. Gibbs smiled to himself; DiNozzo's gut was on to something like a ferret on a rabbit. He kept quiet and let his SFA carry on.

"This Lieutenant Commander Hastings have a work station?"

"I'll get –"

"It's OK, Special Agent McGee is good at finding his own way. You don't like the guy very much, do you?" He bored on, as Tim, after exchanging a glance with Gibbs, nodded thoughtfully and hurried away. The MCPO looked away, his face twisting. "I'll take that as a 'no', then," Tony said with an easy smile, and raised an eyebrow at Gibbs.

"Why don't you like him, Master Chief?" The Boss slid seamlessly in, his bark much harder than his SFA's.

"He was here before," Sheard said venomously.

"Before when?"

"Before I took over. It was a good promotion for me – an enlisted man in charge of an establishment like this. He was a Lieutenant then. He was only here six months before they sent him off overseas again, and I was assigned; but seven months later he's back, I'm informed he's back in charge again, and I'm to assist him before I receive my new posting. He came swanning in here two days ago with his promotion, talking to me as if I'd done something _wrong_, asking a lot of questions… and now he's missing and Richie's dead."

"You got on well with PO2 Knox?"

The look that slid harmlessly off DiNozzo's shoulders would have fried him if he'd been the frying type. "Sure I did. Not enough to falsely accuse someone of murdering him though. Hastings is missing. Do the math."

Gibbs hmphed. "Nothing's to go through that gate in either direction, unless it's our truck, without my say so," he ordered.

"That won't be a problem, Jethro, we're already here." Ducky and Jimmy were trundling a gurney with them as they approached. Gibbs stood aside to let them pass, and went on speaking to the MCPO.

"I can't stop your people from talking to each other; they'll have done all that before we got here. But no traffic between the warehouse and the office area, nobody's to go out to their cars without one of us to escort them."He turned to the youngest agent. "Ziva…. DiNozzo and I'll work the scene." Tony had already started. "Go find yourself a computer –"

"Pull up all possible information on Commander Hastings, check the gate if McGee has not already done so… and any other relevant information," Ziva said, shooting her own sideways look at Sheard as she did so. There was no harm in doing her bit to add to the MCPO's uncertainty. She caught Tony's glance of amused approval, and smiled slightly, then went back towards the office area.

"Better go back, see to your people, Master Chief… oh, and get me some coffee."

Master Chief Sheard's face was a picture of suppressed rage, as he walked away.

"So, what was your gut telling you?"

Tony grinned. "Same as yours, Boss. He knows more than he's letting on."

Gibbs allowed himself half a smile, and turned to Ducky, who forestalled his question.

"Jethro, I've just got here, as you well know. I haven't even taken my liver probe out of its case yet." He looked at the basket with its grisly load, and went on, "However, the likely cause of death would seem, judging by the rather gruesome way the unfortunate victim's back is bent over the guard rails, to be a spine fractured at both points of impact; the small of the back, and the neck. I believe the weight of the lower body would have been sufficient to pull him off the basket and down onto the floor, if his arm had not become wedged between the control mechanism and the rail here. Anthony, have you completed what you need to do before I remove the body to the ground?"

"I'm done, Ducky. Go ahead."

Two hours later they all stopped around the coffee machine to pool information.

"No signs of a struggle," Tony said. "Jumble of fingerprints on the balcony rail, many hands, many times, nothing clear. Smears above the point where the body fell, suggest he leaned against the rail."

"Is that it for two hours work?" McGee's question came with a sympathetic wince; he knew Tony had done all the sketch and a lot of the shoot part of the job before going on his fingerprint hunt. Sketching was _not_ Gibbs' strong point.

"Not entirely," Tony said, "Although I don't know if it'll come to anything or not. Riddle me this: I found two clear sets of fresh palm prints on the right-hand rail of the stair up to the balcony, and just one set on the left."

The others didn't need to think for long. Ziva said, "Could you tell if the one on the left was the _reverse_ of one of the ones on the right?"

"Give that probie a coconut!" Tony said delightedly, and wasn't at all surprised when he got a head slap from Gibbs and an elbow in the ribs from Ziva simultaneously. The staff members who'd been watching the goings on all morning with varying degrees of trepidation, were amazed to see, although they couldn't hear the conversation, that the result of the violence done to the tall agent by his colleagues was simply to increase the power output of his smile.

"I couldn't tell for certain, Ziva, not even using a lens, but I suspect that Abby will find it's so. Which means that we _might _find that the print that didn't come down again was PO2 Knox holding on with his right hand as he went up."

"And the other print was his assailant, holding on as he went up, and again with his right hand on the _left_ rail as he came down," Ziva added, momentarily excited, before she slumped again. "Of course they may not have happened at the same time…"

"And someone else may have been up there," Tony added.

"But it might give us a name as a starting point," Tim said positively.

Gibbs said, "I found nothing but a few coins that probably came from the victim's pockets, and absolutely nothing we could raise trace from. The platform cart's battery was fully charged, no reason for it to be where it was. But I have to say, even if it had been left there with the deliberate idea of making someone fall on it, as a method of premeditated murder… well, it doesn't do it for me."

"I have taken statements from every member of staff here," Ziva said. "They all concur, as you would expect them to do when everyone has had a chance to talk to everyone else." She fell silent, and everyone looked at McGee.

"I've had a look at Commander Hastings' hard drive as well as getting his background," Tim said seriously. "Boss, I know this has to be cleared up quickly, but I'd seriously recommend holding _all_ the staff for questioning, and take their records and just about everything else away for examination. We have a can of worms here. And somebody really ought to go and see the Commander's wife."

**AN: It's taken me a while to round up my powers of concentration enough to write again. A review would be very encouraging.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: A couple of references to my last story, but nothing that would stop this one from making sense, I hope.**

Expecting Trouble

Chapter 2

Surgeon Captain Charlie Forbes was larger than life on the screen in MTAC; Gibbs thought to himself that the jovial man hadn't taken his own profession's health advice. A few too many good dinners lay under Forbes' belt, and the former Gunny knew he was just as much larger than life if you met him in the flesh.

"I wouldn't believe it if he told me himself, Gibbs," he said flatly. "I've known Patch Hastings for twenty years."

"Patch?"

"His nickname since he was a kid, apparently. I've never heard anyone call him Neil. I was on the panel that accepted him for the medical program straight from high school. Training is four years or seven; I looked at him and thought straight away that he was one I'd like to keep, so I told him I'd rather he signed up for the seven – the Uniformed Services University program, USUHS, and he didn't hesitate a moment before agreeing. Been a credit to the Navy from that day to this. Murder? No way."

"Have to tell you, Charlie, there's a lot that doesn't make sense about all this. That's why I came to you, not his immediate superior. I thought if anyone knew anything, it'd be you. Tell me about him. Anything you can think of."

"O-kay… in the twelve years since he qualified, he's done three tours, the Balkans, Iraq, and Afghanistan. He also did one tour of Iraq as a medical student. He was shaping up to be a competent enough surgeon, but he said competent enough was _not _a good enough description for a sawbones; his real strength lay in other areas. He's a walking encyclopaedia of medicines, knows every one, their good and bad effects, which ones combine well… in the field he always instinctively knew what to prescribe and how much, and when to stop." He smiled as he remembered.

"Gibbs, it didn't matter how big or tough a soldier was supposed to be, he didn't see it that way. He was, and is, totally devoted to healing and the relief of suffering, and he _never_ expected a patient in pain to suck it up or put a brave face on it. Relieve suffering, then set about healing. He prescribed, stayed, observed, until he got it right; which was usually straight away."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully. "The person you're describing doesn't sound capable of murder."

"You believe it, Gunny. That knowledge and experience, hell, that attitude, was why he was chosen for the special duty he's just been on, and why he took it up, even though he'd just found out he was going to be a father. I personally promised him, and this was _after_ he'd agreed to do it, that he'd never be sent on tour again once he got back. He's done more than his duty, and I wanted to keep him in the Navy when his term was up. I had Bethesda in mind, he'd be a real asset there."

"But he wasn't sent there."

"No." Charlie Forbes shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "This doesn't leave this room, Gibbs. Not until we've sorted it. He was sent to ESCD on my say so. This special assignment he'd been on for seven months, he'd been visiting all the frontline service hospitals we have, all over the world. His brief was to find out which drugs and medications were proving the most effective, and to advise if there was any better way they could be used. We wanted to know what was best for our service personnel and make sure they got it. He was good, Gibbs. But while he was there, he found… irregularities…"

"Ah."

"Ah is right. I'll send you what I've got. Most of what we could see seemed to trace back to ESCD… Look, Gunny, if Patch is missing, something's wrong. The trouble those two had conceiving that baby, there's no way he'd do something stupid and disappear. Not just before the child's due. You move fast, Gunny. I'm worried. Something's wrong."

Gibbs nodded. "I'm on it, Charlie. I'll keep you posted."

NCISNCISNCIS

SecNav's office had put a temporary and trusted staff into ESCD, who would simply record and receive or despatch the incomings and outgoings since the moment Gibbs had allowed the system to be unfrozen. Everything would have to be tied together later, once Tim had discovered everything he could about his can of worms. Meanwhile the twelve original staff members were ordered to help them when asked, but to initiate nothing, and not to leave the premises.

There was little point in having them brought to the Navy Yard for questioning until they knew which questions to ask, but Ziva remained with them, to be prepared for anything that might come up. She decided to rattle a few cages, since it was better than standing round doing nothing, found an empty office, and started calling people in one at a time.

"MCPO Sheard, please, take a seat."

The chair creaked slightly, as the solidly built man sat grudgingly. "I've already given you my statement."

"That is true," Ziva said without heat, "But I believe there is more you can tell me."

What were they doing sending this slip of a girl to poke around in his business? He'd done nothing wrong. He'd been in the Navy when she'd been on the swings in the park. He gave a disgusted snort. "You'd better ask me, then, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Very well. You resented the return of Lieutenant Commander Hastings. You were not pleased that he had been sent back here. Why _was_ he sent back?" Ziva already knew the answer, Tim had been in touch.

The Master Chief's face twisted, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. He huffed, and finally ground out, "The powers that be weren't pleased with our accounting system; it had got in a mess. They said I wasn't doing my job properly… that I should have kept a closer watch on the system – hell, I've _always_ delegated," he exploded. "It's part of the job! Did they want me to transfer all the staff and do the whole thing myself?"

"Who does the accounting?"

"Everybody has a hand in the system – if you check stuff in you record it. If you're paying an invoice you record that. If you order drugs from the manufacturer, if you dispatch drugs – or equipment, whatever… you account for it. We hadn't had _time_ to do an audit… they never gave me a chance, just sent him back here to tell me how I'd screwed up –"

"Is that what he did?"

"Well… no… he asked some questions, and spent a lot of time in his office, at his computer – it was only a matter of time…"

Ziva got no more useful information out of him. As he strode out, she put her elbows on the desk and thought. She knew very little about office procedure or administration, but everyone having a finger in every pie seemed to her like a recipe for disaster. It was certainly going to make it more difficult, even for Tim, to hit on the most likely suspects. There was a timid knock from outside.

"Come in."

A very young, olivine face with huge dark eyes looked round the door. Ziva remembered this girl from when she had taken her initial statement. "Please, come in, Seaman Apprentice Vas."

"Yes, ma- I mean, Special Agent David." They'd already had that conversation. "Master Chief Sheard said you wanted to speak to me."

"Come and sit down, Sunita," the older woman told her.

She'd already trusted her gut that this girl wasn't involved in whatever it was that was going on, particularly when one of the other ratings had said offhandedly, in front of everyone else, "Vas just makes the tea." Ziva had smiled wryly to herself. A probie's life…

"Sunita," she told the young woman seriously, "When I was collecting everyone's statements earlier on, I got the feeling that there was more you wanted to tell me, but you felt… perhaps a little intimidated. Am I right?"

"Yes, Special Agent David, but – but not by you!"

"Calm down, Sunita. I meant by your colleagues. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"They were all telling you that Commander Hastings had been arguing with Richie… but it wasn't him."

"How do you know?"

"I went to check on a batch number, and I was at the other end of the store, by the door to the office. I could hear the argument going on at the other end of the room, and it wasn't the commander. I'm good on accents. I was born in India, and when I came to America, one of the things I got good at noticing right away was the variety of the accents," she added proudly. "The Commander's from California. This was a mid-western accent, and there are lots of those around here. The other one _was_ Richie; he's from New England."

Ziva hid her smile. In the right environment this child would go far, she thought. "What were they arguing about?"

Sunita sighed. "I couldn't make out, the only thing I'm sure I heard was whoever it was called Richie stupid… I thought I'd just get into trouble for eavesdropping, so I went back to my desk. That's when I saw the Commander."

"You saw him?"

"Yes. He used a hand-held transponder to open the gate – we all have access to them in case we want to leave the site on foot. He turned left and walked down the road; less than a minute later he was back. I don't know what he was doing. But he left carrying something, and came back without it."

"Could you make out what it was?"

"Well," Sunita said, "It was quite small, but it could have been a packet. It'll be on the gate camera…"

Ziva nodded thoughtfully; she was pretty certain Tim had taken the recording for the whole day so far. "Is there a mail box close by?"

The apprentice's eyes widened. "Yes! Just on the next block! Do you think –"

"I do not know what to think yet, Sunita, but I would be grateful if you said nothing of this for the moment. Thank you for your help."

The young woman rose with a pleased smile, and Ziva picked up her cell phone. She was distracted from calling Tim by the sound of the door rattling, and looked up. Sunita was tugging at the handle. "Special Agent David – the door is locked!"

NCISNCISNCIS

Tony went over all the information he had on the twelve ESCD staff, Lieutenant Commander Hastings and PO2 Knox, and used a few tricks Tim had taught him to ferret out more. As he let his eyes flick over random facts, hoping for something to jump out of the page at him, he twitched with unease and impatience, although he couldn't put his finger on why. He could find nothing but an exemplary service record for the Commander; but for that matter, there was nothing amiss in the files of the others, including the truculent MCPO Sheard. None of the twelve would ever pull up any trees, but all were model sailors. Maybe it was the pregnant wife thing that was making him jumpy… but Sheard was married, with two children; and two others were also married.

Over the years, one of the things that always saddened Tony, and never got any better no matter how many times he encountered it, was the human cost. The victim had a family, was someone's son; the murderer's family, when he or she was apprehended, would face the shock, disbelief and pain of what their loved one had done. Lives would be ruined… he sighed, and Tim raised his head, and an enquiring eyebrow.

"Remember talking families? Talking over a beer after the Warner case?"

"Oh, yeah," Tim said ruefully. "Asking ourselves how a decent man like the Senator could produce a dirtbag son like Ben…"

"Getting maudlin over how badly he must have broken his dad's heart…"

Tim leaned back in his chair. "You worried that Hastings is a scunner who's been fooling people?"

"_Scunner?_"

Tim smiled. "Scottish word, I learned it from Ducky. I like it; makes a change from dirtbag." Tony smiled in his turn, and shook his head in wonderment. Bit of role reversal here; McGee was lifting _his_ spirits, which was decent of him, especially when he wasn't even sure why they'd sunk that far. He wished Gibbs would hurry up; he had a feeling he should be _doing_ something.

"Yeah, I guess. If he is, he's been fooling people a long time. Seems his wife's pregnant, that's a worry… you said you thought we should go to see her. My gut says go, but we need to know a bit more about what to expect; so we need Gibbs' information. Why did you say that, anyway?"

"Didn't you – oh, no, you were watching the camera to see that the gate closed behind Ducky when he left. There was a pad by the Commander's phone, and some doodles, and he'd written 'need to see you now, Pol', and the now was underscored so hard it had gone through to the next sheet." Tim grimaced, and looked Tony in the eye. "I thought the doodles looked like they were written by someone who was tense. Worried, maybe. I said so to Gibbs."

Tony didn't look scornful, merely surprised. "You ever studied doodles, McFreud?"

"No. But look at it." He held out an evidence bag, and Tony was grateful for the chance to swing himself out of his chair, to _move_, to go and take it from him. He peered through the plastic.

"It looks like little clouds," he said dubiously. "You sure this looks like stress?"

Tim smiled, without humour. "No. That's _un-_ stressed mode. But try these." He passed the SFA two more bags; one was the note Hastings had written, and Tony could see the pressure lines from the doodled sheet above. The other _was_ the doodle sheet, and even to Tony's unpractised eyes it screamed anxiety, with its heavily pressed spider's web of spikes and angles.

"The Boss thought I might be right, but that it probably wasn't urgent, and he said we _would _ go, but it'd be better to wait until we knew more."

Tony nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still on the evidence bags. "This makes you feel uneasy?" He looked up as Tim nodded. "Me too."

Gibbs came down from MTAC two steps at a time.

"What've you got, Boss?"

"Resounding endorsement. Tell you in a minute. What've _you_ got?"

Tim put up a list of figures on his screen, and the other two men came to look over his shoulders. For once, Gibbs didn't tell him to put it up on the plasma screen; he wasn't sure he'd understand it anyway, and he wanted to hear it in plain English.

"This is a list the Commander made, Boss. It was hidden in a – you don't want to know, or how I found it – it's not in chronological order; I think he simply put a new item in as soon as he found it. This one stands out…" Tim highlighted one line.

"Atazanavir, tenofovir. Both antiretrovirals. I recognised the names right away after investigating the Warner case. Chaz Tressel… they were on his list. They're here in sufficient quantities to stock a clinic for maybe thirty days. And they're listed here as being sent to a Marine unit in South Korea."

"There'd be no reason for that," Tony said sharply.

"Nope," the Boss said shortly. Tim was looking puzzled, and Gibbs explained. "If a serviceman or woman is diagnosed as HIV positive, they're not discharged, but they're returned home if they're abroad, and they're never able to serve overseas again. A field hospital wouldn't need retrovirals at all, let alone in those quantities."

"Mmm…" Tony mused. "I wonder where those drugs _did_ go?"

"Ten grand or so on the black market, Tony," Tim answered his next question before he asked it. The SFA flashed him a cynical but appreciative smile.

Gibbs' agreement with Charlie Forbes not to reveal the substance of their conversation vanished in a puff of smoke; if he'd ever taken it seriously at all. "That's what the Commander was investigating, then," he said. "All Charlie said was 'irregularities'." He explained what the Medical Corps Deputy Chief had told him, and Tony grew increasingly agitated.

"Something up, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, Boss. He's missing, Captain Forbes is anxious about him – I'm worried about his wife."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"That note McGee showed you. With the doodle. My gut. McGee's gut."

Gibbs pursed his lips, then nodded. "Go on, then."

"Just me, Boss?" 

"Ziva's in Norfolk. McGee's needed here. So'm I. Get gone."

**AN: Took a stab at quantities and cost of medicines; I did try to find out, but couldn't come up with anything accurate. Go with the flow….please?**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Tamworth Sandyback… a very fine breed of pig which originated near where I live. Now known all over the world. Just thought I'd mention it.**

Expecting Trouble

Chapter 3

It was about 30 miles up to Glenelg, and Tony scarcely waited to be out of the city limits before flooring the accelerator. The Agency car wasn't as responsive as his Mustang, but once it lumbered its toughened tank of a body up to high speed, it stayed there. He kept glancing at the sat-nav anxiously, as if it would bring his destination into sight sooner. There was nothing to say that trouble was coming, nothing but his gut; but if Captain Forbes were right about Hastings, and Gibbs thought he was, so that was fine, the pregnant wife was best off at the Navy Yard where they could protect her.

From what? He shook his head. It wasn't a huge amount of Atazanavir that McGee had found, but ten grand nevertheless. Add up ten little frauds like that, a hundred little frauds…. It would be enough to kill for… As he turned off the main road, moving out into the country, and having to slow down, he was dividing imaginary amounts of money between the staff of ESCD, and a shadowy figure, or figures outside of it, and he knew that this person, or these people, would be the ones who were most to be feared. The patsys at the sharp end of the operation ran the most risk. They misordered, cooked the books, stole the stuff, and were most likely to get caught. The distributor of the stolen drugs, the man with the contacts, who knew where to dispose of them – hell, probably had them taken to order, he was the one with the real power.

A thought that had been hovering somewhere alighted suddenly; Tony crossed his eyes as if it were a bee on the end of his nose, and hit speed dial one.

"DiNozzo."

"Nearly there, Boss – been doing some thinking." He paused briefly, awaiting the expected sarcastic comment; when it never happened, he went on. "Didn't McGee say that it had started before Hastings' _first _posting to ESCD? That there was nothing while he was there, and then it started again after he went abroad?"

There was a brief discussion while Gibbs confirmed that that had been one of Tim's discoveries, then the Boss answered. "What's on your mind?"

"Well… what if there was a nice little racket developing, and then the good Commander was posted there, and it had to stop? They'd want him gone again, if he was cramping their style. What better way than to find him this special mission he couldn't refuse?" 

"Mmm…unless it seemed to stop because if he were involved he'd be careful not to find evidence against himself."

"You doing Devil's Advocate, Boss? He'd simply have found no evidence of any sort; he'd be in the ideal position to cover it up, after all. Someone wants him to look guilty, but you know he's not, especially if you believe your old mate Captain Forbes."

"So, ok… what _are _you thinking?"

"Whose idea was it? Who recommended to Captain Forbes that he should go?"

"I'm on it," and Gibbs was gone.

Tony rolled the big car slowly down the narrow road that the sat-nav directed him to. It looked an interesting place. A large farmhouse, which seemed by the number of parking slots in the paved yard, to now be apartments, and four long, low parallel barns, which might have once been pig sheds, but were now nicely restored as dwellings, two homes per building. A light bulb lit over Tony's head; the place was called Sandybacks, and he recalled his student days working on a Dakota farm. The big, good natured Tamworth pigs he'd seen there had wintered in barns like these had once been. He pulled up alongside number three, and followed the short stone path through the gap in the firethorn hedge.

He could hear singing from inside the house, and he braced himself. It was a woman's voice, true toned and full of happiness, and Tony felt small and mean as he tapped thee ornate iron knocker. The voice stopped, and he heard footsteps. The door was opened without fear or caution, and the woman who stood there was smiling broadly. She looked at Tony, and he didn't have to say a word, she read him instantly, and the smile dissolved. She wrapped her arms protectively round her very pregnant stomach.

"Patch," she said in a whisper. "What's happened?"

NCISNCISNCIS

"Harah!" Ziva leapt out of her seat and crossed the office in two strides. She grabbed the handle that Sunita had been tugging hopefully at, but the door didn't budge. She tried a few well aimed kicks, but although they were forceful enough to make the door reverberate like a drum, it didn't budge. She raised her voice and yelled sharply. "Hey! If there is anybody out there, you had better get the hell out of the way! I am going to shoot this lock off!"

"No, don't do that," a voice called from some distance, as hurrying footsteps approached. A quick rattle, and the door was opened from the other side, by Master Chief Sheard. "What happened?"

"I do not know! Perhaps you should tell me!"

Sheard looked at her steadily. "I went to the head; I needed to calm down. I did so. As I came out, I felt a breeze that only happens when the loading bay's open –"

"_What_? Show me!" Ziva's stomach turned over. She followed the Master Chief at a run, out into the store.

"But I heard the banging, and came to let you out first!" He finished his explanation shouting over his shoulder. Alongside the charging slots for the carts, was a door that led into the other part of the warehouse, where items too large for the shelving racks were stored. At the back, the roller door gaped open; but there was no-one in sight.

They raced back towards the main office, with Seaman Apprentice Vas following them, to be met halfway by PO1 Martello, the leader of the team from the Secnav's office.

"Agent David, we tried to stop them, but the gate's too slow."

Damn, Ziva thought; I should have found a quiet corner of the main office to ask questions. But she knew privacy was more likely to loosen peoples' tongues, and anyway, just because they hadn't been specifically ordered to, was it too much to hope that they would have _watched_ the gate?

She said sharply, "Who?"

"Six of them. They must have gone out through the loading bay, and got into two cars. Staff cars have transponders for the gates. No-one expected the gate to open, so no-one was watching," he went on shamefacedly, "But we heard the cars revving. Then we noticed a lot of people were missing, and Seaman Hobday saw the gate was more than half open. He hit the button right away, but I think someone in one of the cars used their transponder again… Hobday hit the control again, they probably did – anyway, the gate electronics had a nervous breakdown. They've frozen and it's still open. I've got one of my people phoning to get some marines in to guard it, and Hobday's calling the engineers."

"Hobday – is he –"

"One of my team, Special Agent David," the MCPO said, pointing to a young man using a landline phone while watching the gate through the window. "I think," he added without belligerence, "That we can probably assume that anyone who hasn't gone is not guilty of Richie's murder – or anything else that's going on."

Ziva thought about rule three, and decided to give the benefit of the doubt for now, but to still check later. She nodded her acknowledgement, both of his point, and the effort he was making to be less confrontational. He hadn't, for instance, put any blame on _her_ for not having the gate watched, when she was secretly upbraiding herself for not actually giving the specific order.

"Do you have the numbers of the cars?" she asked, and had a paper handed to her with the numbers on it, by a Seaman who'd been hovering ready at her elbow. "Thank you. And the names of all the missing staff?" A colleague thrust a handwritten sheet at her, the pen still clutched in his hand. At least they were trying. Ziva took out her phone. "I will get a BOLO out right away," she said, but Sunita stopped her.

"Wait!" They all looked at the Seaman Apprentice. "Agent David, PO1 Ames… he went home sick –"

"Just before Knox's body was discovered," Sheard said heavily.

Ziva nodded. "If he is not sick at home right now, we can be sure that Commander Hastings was in his boot when he left." She put out her alerts, and called Gibbs.

"This is a mess," the Master Chief said grimly, as she ended the call. Ziva looked at him. "I know what you're thinking. This is my mess, why didn't I do something about it?"

"That is not what I was thinking;" Ziva said. "I was thinking that I must return to DC, but you have more to tell me first, yes?"

"If I'd trusted Hastings with my suspicions, instead of resenting his presence, maybe he wouldn't be missing, and Richie Knox would still be alive," the Master Chief sighed. There were a few negative murmurs at that, and everyone seemed to be edging closer, whether it was their business or not.

The list writer put a phone down, and said, "No answer from Ames place. Course, he could be asleep in bed…" There was a collective shaking of heads.

"This isn't an excuse," Sheard said, "but it's a bit of explanation, maybe. When I came here, I had no training period; I had to jump in and learn things right away. I'd been one of three supervisors before at a large depot, and we each had a team who knew the ropes and all had a specific job. I found that here everybody did a bit of everything, and I no sooner understood one system than it changed. I got the idea that the staff here was pretty incompetent, and I set out to try to sort things out, but it was like trying to shovel smoke back down the chimney. I didn't say anything to my superiors, because I didn't want to put a black mark on anyone's career if I could deal with it myself, but it got harder and harder."

This time there were murmurs of assent. Seaman Hobday spoke quietly. "It wasn't your fault, Master Chief. PO1 Ames told us to keep our noses out and just do our jobs. He said that his boss was a high ranking officer who could make our lives miserable and ruin our careers. And the trouble was, we didn't know who was involved – Ames was smart like that, so we didn't even know if we could come to you. We were pretty scared. We should have done something, though. I kind of hoped I _would _be arrested and taken in for questioning, then I could have told the truth. But when they hint at hurting your family –"

"Never mind," Ziva said, not without sympathy. "We will get to the bottom of it all soon, and your families, and your careers will no longer be threatened. I need a car. I must go back to DC at once. Please don't leave until someone has come to take your _real_ statements." She gave them all a stern, admonishing look; they all had the grace to look ashamed of themselves.

"Don't worry about a car," MCPO Sheard said. "Look after my team," he told Martello, then added to them, "Make sure that loading bay is secure; I'll be back as soon as I can." He hefted his own car keys. "I'm coming with you, Agent David."

Ziva looked closely at him, then nodded. "Let us go, then."

NCISNCISNCIS

Patch Hastings woke up with a headache, and no awareness at first of anything else. He tried to lift his hands to his throbbing temples, but found he couldn't separate them. As he moved his head against the pillow… yes, that was what it was, a pleasant, freshly laundered linen smelling pillow, the back of his head flared up in hot, smarting pain that was worse than the one connecting both his temples through his forehead. He wished he had some painkillers on him, Dilaudid for preference, strong but light on the side effects; but where had the killer headache come from anyway? What the hell was going on?

He opened his eyes very cautiously; the light was quite dim in the room, and he looked round. The drapes were drawn across the window, and the daylight outside wasn't that strong where it crept in around the edges. So, dull weather, or late afternoon. It couldn't be dull, could it? It had been a lovely morning when he'd been driving to work.

Work! The Commander remembered everything in one nasty rush of comprehension. Staggered by the level of the fraud he'd discovered in less than forty-eight hours of investigating, needing some fresh air, he'd put some of the most salient pieces of information onto a USB and mailed it to Charlie Forbes from a public mailbox outside the site. He didn't know why he'd done it that way; he'd been sending him regular electronic updates; but in his hospital work he'd been known to take the belt and braces approach.

He tugged at his bound hands ineffectually; all the movement did was to hurt his head again. There were footsteps outside the door of the unremarkable bedroom he'd found himself in; self preservation and the need to think made him relax his long, gangly body on the bed and feign unconsciousness.

The door opened, and he wasn't surprised that the voice he heard was that of Chris Poole, the Seaman whose overestimation of how many packs of contraceptive pills were needed on board an aircraft carrier had been the first thing to raise his eyebrows on his return to ESCD. According to Poole's figures, every other man on board the Reagan was anxious to avoid pregnancy. Patch firmly repressed the grin that tried to emerge in spite of his dire situation, and then he thought of Polly, and it was all he could do not to groan aloud.

"He's still unconscious," Poole griped. "Why the hell did you bring him here?"

"Well, maybe because I knew it was your day off, so I'd find you here. Like, all you do when you're off duty is lie around playing computer games."

The Lieutenant Commander was profoundly glad that PO1 Ames was on his way out and closing the door as he spoke, because Seaman Poole's next words took his breath away.

"OK, but why did you call Commander Follet? I never wanted to be involved in any killing!"

"No, but you wanted the money from the scam. You can't always have what you want without taking a risk or two. Maybe she won't want to kill him."

"Like maybe you didn't kill Richie!"

"That was an accident. He said he was going to tell Hastings, and I said he was crazy. I only tried to hold him back! He overbalanced – it was an accident! And if Hastings hadn't walked in on it I'd have made it _look_ like one. It was Richie's fault for jumping off the cart without parking it first! If he'd not landed on it he'd probably have been OK!"

The voices were going away from the door, and Patch lay there stunned. Commander Follet… Astrid Follet, excellent orthopaedic surgeon, his CO, and the woman who had, in glowing terms, recommended him for the vital special assignment. His trusted friend; and here he was, trussed up like a turkey, waiting for her to come and…_kill him_?

He'd done his very best on that mission; gone above and beyond… knowing that when it was over he would have, at last, the life he'd always dreamed of; life with his vibrant, brainy, beautiful, adored wife, and their longed for, and finally promised daughter. Seven months of enduring the separation was down to one more night, and he was screwed if he was going to die first. At the hands of someone he'd thought was his friend.

With his hands tied in front of him, and his ankles also bound, it took a long time, gasping and trying to groan silently, to wriggle into a position where he could extract his cell phone from the tiny, tight pocket within a pocket at his right hip. When he finally managed it, he found his close-up vision was so distorted by the blow Ames had landed to the back of his head that he couldn't see to key up properly. There were voices coming closer outside; he set the phone on silent, left it switched on and stuffed it under the duvet he was lying on top of.

He was still trying to calm his laboured breathing when the door opened.

"Ah, Patch," Astrid's pleasant, light, bedside manner voice greeted him. "I'm glad to see you're awake." He schooled his features to blankness and just looked at her. She lifted his head slightly and examined the back of his head with stubby, expert fingers. She regarded him with a motherly blue gaze. "Mm, no fracture, I think. Your eyes suggest mild concussion; sorry about that. I'm afraid Ames isn't very good at decision making – it was all he could think of at the time."

Patch just looked at his former friend with an expression in which betrayal was the easiest emotion to identify in a long list. Astrid smiled thinly. "It's a waste of time giving me that look, Patch. If Charlie had sent you to Bethesda, like he said he was going to, this would never have happened. I'm assuming that the fact that he sent you back to ESCD means he knows something?"

Again, the Lieutenant Commander simply didn't bother to answer, and Astrid reached over and grabbed his jaw, digging her fingers in none too gently. There was a lot of strength there, for a woman whose age meant she faced mandatory retirement in only a year or so. "You _will_ tell me, Patch. I need to know how much he knows. Does he know about me?" She waited a moment. "Who else knows? Who have you told? You didn't know about me, did you? So maybe Charlie doesn't either."

"Yes, he does. You've had it, Astrid." He couldn't help enjoying the fear that flitted across her face.

"You're bluffing, my dear." Patch couldn't be bothered to argue the point. "Never mind. I did think of thiopental… but then I had a better idea. You'll tell me the truth, very shortly. I'm having Polly brought here." And now it was her turn to enjoy the wild fear that flared in the younger doctor's eyes.

**AN: Action next… heroic Tony, anyone?**


	4. Chapter 4

Expecting Trouble

Chapter 4

Gibbs was restless; the team was spread too thin. The sun was dropping, and anyone who didn't have an active case, which was everyone but the MCRT, was heading for home. The Lead Agent frowned to himself. He drew the line at asking any of them to give up their down time and stay; his team would cope as they always had done. Ziva was on her way back from Norfolk, Abby had come up to run the BOLOs and APBs with Tim, and last time DiNozzo had checked in he was fine.

Gibbs looked at one of Tim's screens and frowned again. "Is this a phone trace, McGee?"

"Yes, Boss, it's – "

"You running two?"

Tim nodded, not giving away even slightly his surprise that the Boss understood what he was looking at. "This is Lieutenant Commander Hastings' official phone, Boss. It's not switched on, but I've got it set up to alert me if it does come on line."

Gibbs squinted at the screen. "And this one… this one's switched on, right? Whose is this?"

Tim looked slightly embarrassed. "Tony's, Boss."

"Tony's?" Gibbs was quiet for a moment. "Your gut still worrying you?"

Tim hesitated, not quite sure how to explain. "His was. I guess it got to me. I er… I wasn't so happy when he went off on his own; I know there was no reason for him not to –" 

"Except his gut. And yours. So you're keeping tabs on where he is."

Tim looked even more embarrassed. "Yeah, Boss. He's been at the Hastings' home for maybe… yeah, fifteen minutes now. It's – it's just a precaution."

Gibbs nodded. "Good thinking, McGee." Tim and Abby exchanged stunned glances.

Tim's desk phone rang. He listened, sighed, and hung up. "The two cars were found abandoned, I've asked for urgent information on anything stolen in the area, and for BOLOs to be put out if there has been."

Gibbs nodded again, and was about to speak when his phone shrilled.

"Gibbs. Yeah, Charlie…"

"Gunny. Sorry not to get back quicker… I talked to a few other people to make sure I wasn't mistaken. I wish I was." 

"Why's that?"

"One person suggested the mission. One person spoke to SecNav, spoke to the Congressional sub-committee, put forward Patch's name. Commander Astrid Follet. His CO."

"_The Hell she did!"_

"Gunny, I couldn't believe it myself. I've known her even longer than I've known Patch. Do you want me to do anything?"

"No… thanks, Charlie, but leave this to us." He disconnected. "McGee… pull everything you can on Hastings' CO –" 

"Commander Follet?" Tim's eyebrows rose in shock. He answered the Boss's next 'how did you know' question before it was asked. "Her name's come up several times. Speaking of Hastings in glowing terms." By the time he'd finished speaking, the picture of a kindly looking woman with light brown, heavily greyed hair and gentle blue eyes was up on the plasma.

"Sweet old granny," Gibbs growled, ignoring the fact that the woman in the picture wasn't that much older than him.

Abby smiled to herself. The Commander was listed as being sixty-three years old, but the forensic scientist, if asked to guess, would have placed her maybe five years older than that. Unlike her Silver Fox, Commander Follet didn't seem to have worn well. 'Miaow,' Abby told herself.

"Find out where she is now," Gibbs snapped.

"On it, Boss – hey…" Tim was wearing the same light-bulb expression Tony sometimes had when he made one of his random connections. He rattled keys furiously. "I knew it! I'd seen her name somewhere else." He brought up Master Chief Henry 'Hank' Sheard's file. "Boss, it was Commander Follet who recommended Sheard for the post I/C ESCD. We've been thinking of Sheard as incompetent… what if she made sure that the _wrong_ man was sent to the job?"

"I'll check," Abby said, putting the record on her screen, while Tim tried to find out where the scheming Commander was. She read quickly and shrewdly. "Tim's right, Bossman," she said excitedly. "MCPO Sheard was on Carriers, involved in munitions handling, then on shore in charge of a team doing the same thing on a large scale. He knows everything there is to know about storing and handling ordnance, and not the first thing about medicines. He was set up."

"That's what I keep saying, ma'am," a voice said behind her, as the Master Chief hurried in with Ziva. He looked Gibbs straight in the eye. "ESCD is still under SecNav's command, Special Agent Gibbs. My team, what's left of it, is exhausted and stressed. I've ordered them home as soon as someone's taken their statements, and Zi – Special Agent David has arranged for that. I'd like to offer my services in helping to put things right. I'm quite prepared to take the flak for my part in all this; but I don't want them to suffer."

Ziva shook her head. "Your loyalty is commendable," she said carefully, "But you were working in ignorance of the situation. They knew what was gong on, and should have had the courage to come forward."

"For all they knew I could have been –"

"Inquest later," Gibbs cut them off. He gestured at the firearm in the button-down khaki holster at the other man's side. "You up to date with your firearms proficiency?"

"Oh, yeah. It's in my file," he added defensively, still feeling the effects of the day's mistrust and accusation. It rolled off Gibbs, and the MCPO was reminded of the big agent with the sarcastic mouth, who didn't seem to be here. Probably just as well; he'd most likely want to lamp him one, and on his own territory.

"Ya follow orders and ya don't argue," the boss agent said, and Sheard shrugged and grinned.

"Sure," he said, the prickly feeling gone. "You tell me who to shoot, I'll shoot 'em."

The moment he finished speaking, with perfect timing everything happened at once.

"Gibbs – two cars stolen right by where the abandoned ones were found," Abby said urgently. "One's fifteen minutes from here in Arlington. The other was possibly sighted –" she looked at the Bossman with wide, anxious eyes – "Heading out towards Clarksville. Gibbs, you go past Clarksville you –"

"Get to Glenelg. I know, Abs." He looked at the new arrivals. "Miz Hastings lives outside of Glenelg. Tony's with her, and no back-up."

Tim had moved over to Abby, who was using DiNozzo's computer, and was looking over her shoulder. "Boss, the stolen car at Arlington's outside the home of a Mr. and Mrs. Poole. Their son Christopher is a Seaman on Master Chief Sheard's team."

Sheard said "He put in for a couple of days leave. His parents are away – said he wanted to house-sit and chill."

Tim hit a few more keys, and Gibbs observed another tracking programme. Tim turned to face him. "That's Commander Follet's cell phone. She's moving towards Arlington."

"That's where Hastings is, then. Nice work, both. Let's go. Abs, you stay at the controls here."

Abby saluted smartly, to Hank Sheard's bemusement. "Yes, Sir. I'll alert Ducky, too."

"Ducky?" Sheard asked Ziva.

"Our ME."

"You think Hastings –"

"I do not know. But our Dr. Mallard is an excellent emergency doctor." Sheard fell silent – it was better just to go with the flow. He'd gotten to like the former Israeli agent as they'd talked on the drive up from Norfolk. He'd never encountered anyone before who wasn't scared of his driving.

Tim's whole body language was radiating anxiety, and he was shooting frantic glances at Gibbs as he clipped on his badge and gun.

"I know, McGee. But we know where Hastings is, and our duty's to him. And I'm not sending you off to Glenelg alone either. We just have to trust Tony to deal with things himself. Abby'll call him and warn him."

His cell phone buzzed as they ran down to the car.

"Boss? Er… I think we could be in a bit of trouble here…"

NCISNCISNCIS

Tony stood in Polly Hastings' sitting room, as restless as Gibbs was back in DC. He wandered round, glancing idly at things, and his eyes fell on the book-case. There were classics from English and American authors, translations from other languages, and some in German. Most predominant, though, were the poetry books. Tennyson, Coleridge, Homer, Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath… Paul Laurence Dunbar and Lucy Larcom, Schiller and Brecht in the original language…

Polly came back into the room, to reach into a desk drawer, and saw where his glance lay. She smiled in spite of the fearful tension she felt. "I teach literature and creative writing at UMBC;" she said. "Emphasis on poetry."

Tony smiled back. "Your collection's pretty wide ranging," he remarked, and pointed to one particular volume. "Larcom," he said softly. "You have to read her to believe her. I… I like her sea poems most…Hannah, who grows old, waiting for word of her husband, the fisherman… and the next poem tells how he drowned, thinking about her, years before…" 

"She had a great soul… I love the pictures she painted of children, yet she had neither husband nor family…"

She rubbed her bump unconsciously, and Tony made the connection. "Lucy's named for her," he said, and that drew another brief, pleased smile. He patted her shoulder. "We need to be gone. Do you have everything you need?"

"_I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, Mrs. Hastings. May I come in?" She'd stepped aside wordlessly, eyes huge, not even asking to see his badge, although he showed it anyway. Maybe she was too stunned to think about it, but he sort of hoped it was because he looked trustworthy. Whatever… He felt heartsick looking at her; she'd been happy moments before he arrived. _

_They weren't exaggerating when they'd said late pregnancy. The bloom of health on Polly Hastings skin and in her shining eyes, her total lack of self-consciousness at the undignified waddle that was her only gait at the moment, and the impressive bump tugged at something inside Tony DiNozzo, and he forced it away ruthlessly. He envied Patch Hastings._

_He explained the reason for his visit in as few words as possible, and found himself supporting the pregnant woman to the couch in her sitting room, as she went white and her legs threatened to give way._

_He brought her a glass of water, and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. "Will you be all right now?"_

"_I'm fine. Special Agent DiNozzo, my husband isn't a murderer!"_

"_We don't think so either."_

"_But he's missing. People will think he's guilty…"_

"_We __**don't**__."_

_She didn't seem to hear him as her voice rose in anxiety. "He wouldn't. He joined the Navy, he became a doctor, he dedicated his life to healing, because he's that sort of person. His father couldn't see it, but he proved he could make something of his life, and he wouldn't throw all that away! He wouldn't throw Lucy and me away!"_

_Tony's stomach lurched. "His father couldn't see it?"_

"_He said he'd never amount to anything; apparently he was always saying it. Well he was wrong."_

"_Yeah," Tony said, not quite able to stop what came out of his mouth. "I've been there, Ma'am."_

_She looked sharply straight into his eyes, measuring him. "Polly," she said. _

"_Tony. Polly, we think the real killer took him. If he'd been killed, he'd have been there." She looked at him, took a deep breath, and pressed her lips together. Brave girl. "They're keeping him for a reason, and we're going to find him. You've not met my team. You've not met my Boss. If you had, you wouldn't worry. Well, you would. But not as much. You'd know I'm right." He took her hands and rubbed the bases of her thumbs with his own; she didn't object._

"_I believe you," she said more calmly, "But what are we going to do?"_

_Tony stood up, and pulled her gently to her feet, stepping back to see if she was steady. "Pack a few essentials. I'll take you to the Navy Yard – if we haven't found Neil by morning – which we will – I'll take you to a safe house until we do. OK?"_

"_A safe house? But why would I not be safe?" She looked at him, eyes wide again. Alarmed but trusting. Neil Hastings was a lucky man. He put a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "Do you talk to Neil every day?"_

"_Patch." She actually grinned, and answered his unspoken question as if she'd done it a hundred times before. "He played a pirate in a school play when he was seven. The 'ahaarrrhhh's brought the house down. And yes, course I do."_

"_They could be worried about what you talk about. I'd rather be safe than sorry, Polly. I'm sure Patch would prefer that too. Go pack. Quick."_

Now she stood uncertainly, looking round her home.

"Come on," Tony said, chivvying gently. "Where's your bag? I'll carry it." When she made no move, he patted her shoulder again. "Come on. I'll look after you. Let's go and find Patch."

She sighed. "'If the world seems cold to you, kindle fires to warm it.'," she said softly, seemingly at random.

"Larcom!" he said, identifying the quote.

"Mmm. You're a good guy, Tony."

They went slowly out to the agency sedan, and as Tony went to put Polly's overnight bag in the trunk, she walked slowly round to the passenger side. As Tony straightened up and slammed the trunk shut, he heard a car engine, and thought it was going far too fast for a road that went no further than the farmhouse. Ah, _shit!_ He ran round the car, grabbed Polly and pushed her behind it out of the way, and turned to face it, going for his gun. He was too late; although the driver was braking, realising he was going to run out of road, the car was still moving fast enough to catch the SFA a glancing blow as he tried to evade it.

"Polly! Get in the car! Get in quickly!" He scrambled round to the driver's side, with one eye on the other car as he leapt in and slammed it into reverse. The Pontiac's progress was stopped abruptly by the farmhouse wall, and the three men inside didn't seem to want to get out immediately. Tony was taking no chances; he made a mess of Polly's firethorn hedge as he didn't bother to look where he reversed; he shot out two tyres of her car, put the Dodge into drive and lumbered off down the narrow road.

The adrenalin subsided a little, and at that point Tony began to make the first tentative damage assessment. His left arm didn't feel so good, neither did his ribs, but he thought he could manage. He floored the gas pedal, and concentrated on keeping the agency vehicle on the road. After a few minutes he looked across at Polly. She looked back at him wide eyed. He got his breath back, and after wrestling the car again, he said apologetically, "Sorry about your tyres, Polly. But that little Vitara's exactly what I'd steal if I wanted to chase somebody in a tank like this one on a country road."

"Oh," Polly said in a small voice. "Gail at the farm's got one too."

"Ah… Well, we've got a head start. Can you reach into my pocket and see if my cell phone survived?"

"OK… but there's no reception on this bit of the road. It gets OK after another half mile."

"Hang on to it then." He glanced in his rear mirror. "Polly… is your friend's Vitara light blue?" The sound of a shot meant that she didn't have to answer. He pushed her down without ceremony. "Stay below the window level. And hang on."

He trod harder on the gas; the car was going much too fast for the road, and heaven help them if they met anyone coming the other way. A shot hit the rear screen; it was toughened, so it didn't get through, but Tony knew it couldn't hold out for ever. The Vitara was gaining on them… His left arm was hurting, and in a three on one fight he didn't rate his chances that much, there was Polly to protect, and Lucy – must be funny to know your child before she's even born… The road widened out a little, and he took action almost before he'd thought about it.

"Hold on tight," he told Polly again, "and look out for the airbag." He'd pushed his gun under his leg after he shot up Polly's car; he checked it was secure, and cramped the wheel over, yanking on the parking brake, and kicking down to low gear. He'd done it before, it had worked, somehow; he just prayed it would this time. The car bucked, slithered, and ended up facing the way it had come, and he drove at the Vitara, aiming his side of the Dodge for one corner. At the last moment, he said "Crunch," to his passenger, and turned sideways to avoid getting two black eyes from the airbag.

He discovered that because the tank was moving quite slowly, the impact wasn't actually enough to set the airbag off, but the people in the Vitara weren't so lucky. The four-wheel-drive bucketed blindly down a gentle slope, and a tree that Tony silently blessed for its kindness, got in the way. The impact was deafening.

"Stay there, hon, I'll be back." He rolled out of the car, gun in hand, remembering too late the possible damage to his left side, but the adrenalin was racing again so things weren't too bad. Ducking and weaving, he approached the other car, although no-one seemed to be moving. He hesitated. Gasoline? He saw a small amount of flame under the car, and realised, sickly, in a heartbeat that there was nothing he could do. He headed back at a flat out run, but the blast wave from the explosion still face-planted him in the grass.

"Tony?"

He crawled back to the car. Polly Hastings was lying across the driver's seat, staying low but trying to get closer to him. He leaned breathlessly against the side of the car, watching the blaze. "It only does that in the movies," he said, hoping that the men in the car were all dead, or at least unconscious before the fire. "Are you alright, Polly?"

She sat up, looking apprehensive, embarrassed, and just about ready to laugh, or cry.

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"Yeah, fine. But the ol' bus isn't going anywhere," he added sadly, patting the Dodge's wing. The front wheel suspension had collapsed.

"Oh," Polly said. Something about her tone made him pay attention. She was sitting in what seemed to be a puddle of water.

"That's not…" It wasn't the first time he'd seen the effects of a pregnant woman's water breaking. "Ah."

"I'm not due for another two weeks," she said apologetically.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly, took the phone that she was still clutching, and hit speed dial one. "Boss? Er… I think we could be in a bit of trouble here…"

**AN: Extra long chapter, as I had to keep going until we arrived at that point. I'm not planning to make a habit of it – my eyes are swizzling. Think I'd better up it to T for the next one.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Very big thanks here to XX-Samantha-XX for her invaluable advice for this and the following chapter. Although I've been through pregnancy and childbirth twice, I didn't know if the time-scale I had in mind was feasible or not, and I don't like to strain readers' credulity. Her help was a godsend – you're a pal, Sam!**

Expecting Trouble

Chapter 5

"_Boss? Er… I think we could be in a bit of trouble here…"_

Gibbs knew better than to take his SFA's light, cheerful tone at face value.

"Are you under attack?"

"No… done that. Unless there are any more of them? Boss, please tell me there aren't any more of them…"

"We had one car heading in your direction. No more. What happened?"

Tony's voice was so level Gibbs' trouble meter was off the scale. "Took the car out, Boss. They were shooting at us… three of them… had to do something –"

"DiNozzo!"

"Police driving manoeuvre, Boss."Ok, unofficial, Tony thought; playing chicken, not the gentle nudge to a suspect's rear wheel that Gibbs would hopefully think he meant… but hey, he'd learnt it in his days as a cop. "They crashed, Boss. Explosion… they're all dead."

"So what exactly is the problem? You hurt? Miz Hastings hurt?"

"Well, we're on a country road, miles from civilization… our vehicle's going nowhere… Polly's fine, but I'm pretty certain she's gone into labour."

"Ah." Gibbs thought for a moment. "Leave your phone on, Abby's tracking you. We'll find you. We know where they're holding Hastings, we reckon he's OK, cuz we know who the big chief is, and we're tracking her. She's on her way to where they've got him; my gut says she wouldn't be if he was dead. We're on our way to get him; I'll get someone to you as quickly as possible. Now, you need to keep her calm, and let her lie –"

Again, the impossibly level voice. "Done it before, Boss."

"Done what?"

"Delivered a baby. Twice." They were all standing by the agency car, waiting to go, and none of them afterwards could describe the look on Gibbs' face. "Well… first time was holding a torch for my partner… other time was all me. In the back of a house removals van. Just get us an ambulance, huh? And go get Hastings, Boss." He disconnected, leaving Gibbs, for once, staring at the phone in astonishment.

"Boss?" Tim asked urgently.

"Yeah." Gibbs shook his head and got back in the game. A few moments later, as they headed for Arlington, Tim and Ziva were in turn wearing the expression he'd just shrugged off. Nobody said anything fatuous, like 'Tony? Took out three bad guys? Tony? Delivering a baby?' No matter how crazy it sounded, the Boss didn't seem to be joking.

As they screamed up the Southwest Freeway, Tim, riding shotgun, looked at Gibbs' abstracted expression, and said, "Is there something else, Boss?"

The senior agent glanced at him in surprise, then to Tim's astonishment, he acknowledged the young agent's perception by opening up. "Yeah, McGee. I reckon. He's not telling me everything… I asked him if they were hurt. He said Miz Hastings was fine. Polly, he said."

"Oh," Tim said, with a sinking feeling. "He never said… I'll call Abby. Get her to rustle up a helo."

NCISNCISNCIS

Polly sat hunched on the grass beside the damaged car, hugging her arms low round her abdomen. "They're sending us some help," Tony said. "They'll get an ambulance to us soon. You'll be fine."

Polly's eyes were bright in the gathering dusk. "It'd better be soon," she said wryly.

"There'll be plenty of time," Tony said reassuringly. "Lucy'll take time to arrive… the EMOs will arrive long before that. Hey… in the mean time, how's this? They know where Patch is, and they're going to rescue him."

Polly's eyes went wide. "Is he…"

"Well, my Boss reckons he's fine. I don't have all the information, but he wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it. And they'll save him. Remember, I told you my team's good."

"Oh…" Her intelligent, dark eyes filled up, and she wiped tears away from her face. "Oh… thank God." She wrapped her arms around her bump in that protective way again. "I love him so much, Tony… It took me until I was thirty-three to find him. I was wondering how I'd cope with being given Lucy and having him taken away…"

He sat on the grass beside her, and put his good arm round her. "You won't have to, Polly. Things are going to be fine. Before long this afternoon will just be a bad memory." He wriggled away again, and pushed himself to his knees. "Is there something in your bag we could use as a pillow? Aren't you supposed to lie still and take things easy if your water breaks? You could lie down and be comfortable until help gets here."

"Tony, I don't think so."

"OK, we'll use my jacket then."

"No… I mean I don't think I'm going to be able to lie down and be comfortable." He looked at her in alarm, getting her drift. "I'm not _due_ yet… I thought the cramps I've been getting these last four days were just practice twinges. They tell you about them at classes. Braxton Hicks contractions… but…"

"Well, maybe they were, if they've been going on that long," Tony said hopefully.

"No. Tony, I _know_."

"Well," he said steadily, his mind reeling, "I guess this changes our plans. We can't sit out on a hillside and hope someone comes by. Back into the car, Pol."

"I thought you said it wasn't going anywhere."

"It won't get far; and it'll be like riding in one of those cars with eccentric axles like clowns use, but we'll take it as far as we can before the suspension collapses altogether," he told her as he settled her and went to strap her in. He hesitated; reaching across her body meant he either had to brace himself with his good arm and fasten her belt with the other, or lean on his bad arm, which he didn't think was an option. Actually, leaning over wasn't going to be good for the rest of him either. He knew what broken ribs felt like… His own condition was only fine as long as he didn't remember that it _wasn't._

He walked back to the driver's side, and fastened her belt once he'd climbed in. Her face was suddenly strained and pale. "Was that a contraction?"

"Yes…"

"OK, here's what we'll do. It's an infallible plan. We get this old bus to take us back as close to your place as it'll get us. Then I run down the road and alert your neighbours, if the car hitting the wall hasn't had them calling the cops already…and we come back for you with a car that works, then –"

Polly was shaking her head at him desperately as they began their lurching journey in the crippled tank. "The units are only four months old;" she said. "I moved in six weeks ago. The guy made a fortune in pigs, and sold out. Another farmer bought the land, and the buildings were converted. Only mine, the Spencers next door, and one opposite are occupied yet, and two of the apartments. Gail's gone on holiday, so have the Myatts at number 1, Tanya in the other flat is working away, and the Spencers left a couple of hours ago to visit their daughter overnight. There's just us, Tony!"

He listened with a sinking heart and a cheerful, unruffled grin to the mounting tally of disaster, braced his aching arm on the wheel, and reached over to squeeze her hand. "Then just us it is. And oh, dear, I went and shot out your tyres."

She giggled bravely. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," she said.

NCISNCISNCIS

"The lovely Astrid drives a silver Lexus," Abby was telling Gibbs as the NCIS sedan came to a halt. "You should be seeing it any time now, I've got its lojack on screen. Her phone is there too. The handprints Tony found were Knox and Ames, by the way, although that's pretty old info by now. Gibbs, if there were three in the car, plus Ames, plus Poole, plus Astrid, and you don't know if there's anyone else –"

"Abs. We know. Is Ducky on his way to us? And what about that helo for Tony?"

"Gibbs! I'm trying. Yes, Ducky _and _a Paramedic team are on their way. The nearest Medevac is in the air over West Virginia right now, with a patient. They'll do what they can. Is Tony really delivering a baby? I think Tim's winding – Gibbs? Gibbs?" She pouted, glared at the phone, and went back to her screens with a sigh. It wasn't the first, or the twenty-first time she'd been left to wait and worry; but had there ever been an unborn child in the equation before? She called up the Air Ambulance again.

There was no-one on guard outside the house. The silver Lexus was sitting in plain sight; clearly Commander Follet had no fear of detection. Far too self-confident; Tim thought. Knox was dead, Hastings missing – did she think no-one would notice? She obviously didn't think a connection could be made to her; if she'd had an inkling of how they worked, she'd have been leaving the country by now.

He smiled, a slow, mean, schadenfreude-laden snarl that his parents would have been astonished to see on their son's open, good natured face.

The Boss caught the expression and approved. He knew McGee reserved that expression for the bad guys.

"You any good at sneaking?" he asked Sheard.

"Never tried."

"OK, you're with me, then." Tim and Ziva moved without further discussion to find their way to the rear of the house. Gibbs nodded his head after them. "We'll give them a minute. They go in quietly, we go in loud. You know my team; you know Commander Hastings. Anyone else, they even start to point a gun at you, you shoot them."

Sheard nodded calmly, almost cheerfully; he patted his borrowed vest, zipped up his borrowed NCIS jacket, and drew his handgun. A neighbour emerged from her front door; her eyes flew wide and her hands flew to her mouth as she saw the weapons. The Master Chief's crisp, "Go back inside, Ma'am, please," sent her scurrying away, and Gibbs grinning up to the front door, which he kicked down.

Poole and a woman PO3 were smoking in the garden at the rear of the house. The twin sounds of Sigs being cocked made them freeze.

"Very wise," a light female voice said with amusement.

"Not a sound," a male voice added, its total lack of expression enough to scare the already skittish Poole rigid. "How many others?" Poole had completely lost his voice. "You _are _allowed to speak to answer the question," the emotionless voice said, as the muzzle of a gun poked him in the ribs.

"F – four."

"What sort of weapons?"

"Only pistols. I don't think the Commander's got a gun…"

"You'd better be telling the truth," the female agent said, cuffing him. "D'you think he's telling the truth, McGee?"

"He _is_," the other woman squealed frantically, and Tim and Ziva grinned at each other. They shut the pair, cuffed, in a garden shed, and eased themselves into the house. It was only a matter of about twenty seconds before the front door crashed inwards, and anybody who might appear to investigate would be caught between two sets of attackers.

Gibbs advanced down the hall, as a face he remembered from earlier in the day appeared at the top of the stairs, aiming a pretty big, non-regulation handgun. Gibbs put a bullet in his thigh; he fell down the stairs and lay groaning and swearing at the bottom. Another man exploded from the downstairs cloakroom, behind Gibbs, with half of his shirt hanging out, and began to aim at the agent's back.

Sheard sighed, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Atkins," he said sweetly.

As the startled man recognised his voice and began to turn, squawking "Chief!" he tapped him again, only this time on the head, with his gun.

Ziva signalled, ground floor clear; Tim pointed up the stairs and raised two fingers. He and Gibbs went up the staircase side by side, facing in opposite directions, but there was no-one visible. Ziva ran lightly up to join them, while Master Chief Sheard stayed guarding the two prisoners. He was perfectly willing to mix in, but these three moved so much as one it was fascinating to watch. He'd be there if they needed him; he wasn't going to get in the way if they didn't.

Tim reached to the limit of his arm and grasped the handle of a bedroom door. As he began to turn it the wood splintered where his face would have been if he hadn't been stretching. He flinched slightly as splinters flew, but shoved the door hard. Ames began firing wildly; he'd have been better off if he'd dropped his gun. Gibbs and Ziva both fired, and Ames was no longer a threat.

The bathroom was empty, as was the smallest bedroom; McGee reached for the last remaining bedroom door. A thin line of blood was trickling down from his temple; Ziva thought it made him look older and meaner. She shook her head at him and took the handle herself: let me. Nobody fired, but as the door opened, they found a threat that was real enough. Patch Hastings sat on the edge of the bed, bound, eyes glazed from something noxious running through his veins, his hands bleeding from cuts across the palms. A medical bag lay open on the floor by his feet. Astrid Follet had her arm round his neck, and the point of the scalpel she'd cut him with against his throat.

"Come any nearer and I'll kill him." Her kindly bedside manner was gone for ever.

"And then what?" It was McGee who spoke, and Gibbs blinked at the disdainful sneer in his tone. "We let you walk out of here?" It was calculated to offend; and Astrid bridled. Tim didn't let her reply, however. "Three guns, and your tiny scalpel. How d'you figure that's going to work, _doctor_?"

Gibbs took a deep breath, and decided to say nothing. Follet's attention was off the scalpel now, and on the young whippersnapper who was baiting her. "We've taken out your entire team. No-one's going to walk in here and rescue you. Oh, and you know the other team you sent after Mrs. Hastings? They've been taken out too. All three of them, by _one_ of ours. You're losing it, Commander." He put as much scorn into his tone as he could muster. "No, actually, you've lost it."

Astrid screeched and launched herself across the room at him, flailing the scalpel out in front of her. Tim dodged the frenzied attack without effort, and simply punched her lightly, once, on the chin. As she folded like a stack of shirts he deftly removed the scalpel so she wouldn't fall on it. As Ziva ran to check on Hastings, who was slowly keeling over, Gibbs said, "Aw, McGee, what did you have to hit a sweet old granny for?"

"I'm ashamed, Boss. That I enjoyed it."

"How did you know that was the way to talk to her?"

Tim allowed himself a very small smile. "She reminded me of a lecturer I knew at Johns Hopkins – woman with an ego the size of the Washington Monument." He looked at Ziva, who had untied Hastings and laid him down on the bed.

"He will be fine, McGee."

Tim sighed with relief. "Boss… Tony?"

NCISNCISNCIS

The daylight was fading fast now, and when the poor, beleaguered Dodge's front suspension finally died with a scrape and a twang, Tony, not familiar with the road, wasn't sure how far from Sandybacks they were.

"Half a mile, or maybe less," Polly reassured him. "I can walk that far, don't worry."

"Brave girl," he said. He didn't say anything about whether _he _could do it or not. As he helped her out of the car, he was more than relieved to see that it wasn't blocking the road. If he'd been able-bodied he'd have had a hell of a job pushing it out of the way. Right now, he couldn't have pushed a button.

His phone buzzed. "Boss… give me some good news."

"Hastings is safe. Doped, but unharmed. Abs has it you're on your way back to the Hastings place? Good. We're sending you a helicopter… soon as we can get it. Hang in there."

The anxiety in Polly's eyes was unbearable; it was an absolute pleasure to take it away. "Told you they'd get him. He's safe. He… he'll come back to Lucy, OK?" She leaned against him and shook silently for a couple of minutes. He stroked her dark hair, and wished he had a woman to love him like she loved Patch.

She lifted her head, and smiled crookedly. "Thanks. Shall we go?"

They left her bag in the trunk, not feeling much like carrying it, and set off slowly down the road. After a while, he said, "D'you need to lean on me, Polly?"

She gave him a hard look in the dying light. "No. Do _you _need to lean on me?"

As she'd expected, he pretended not to understand. "Hey, I'm fine. You let me know if you need to rest. If you have a contraction…"

It was less than ten minutes later that they had to stop, as Polly bent double until the cramp had passed. Tony hit the light button on his watch. "Timing them, Tony?" she asked him as she got her breath back.

"Sure. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

They were staggering along again, leaning on each other. "I thought… you told your Boss… you'd done this before?"

"I have, sweetheart. I just don't know much about the early stages…"

She didn't want to alarm him, so she didn't mention as they tottered gratefully towards her front door, that she was certain she was _not_ in the early stages any more.

He didn't want to alarm her, so he didn't tell her that by the time he'd reached the broken down truck he'd been called to, the young mother had been well into second stage, and had done most of the work already. It had only been a matter of ten minutes before he'd eased the baby into the world. And that day he hadn't had a broken arm. Or ribs.

It was immaterial. Lucy was going to be born safe and healthy, if it killed him.

**AN: Sorry, got a bit sappy there…**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I'm not sure where having a baby comes in the ratings, so I've put it up to T. Well, means the gal can say what she thinks….**

Expecting Trouble

Chapter 6

Gibbs was somewhat relieved that Patch Hastings was still under the influence of whatever it was; it meant he didn't have to tell him what was happening up in Glenelg. In her efforts to find out what he had discovered about her scam, his Commanding Officer had threatened his wife, used disorientating drugs on him, and cut his hands with a scalpel, and what he needed right now was hospital. Once they got him to Bethesda would be the time to tell him about his wife, not while there was a chance he might really grasp what he was being told, and demand a place in the helicopter. Quite simply, there had to be room for DiNozzo as well as Polly and her child on the return journey.

A woozy, venomous Follet and a subdued Atkins had been checked over by EMTs, and they and the two undamaged perps were being taken to NCIS, where they'd have a long wait before Gibbs was ready to question them, since he still didn't want to call anyone else in to process the crime scene. Master Chief Sheard went with them. Hastings and the man Gibbs had shot in the leg were heading for Bethesda in ambulances, and while PO1 Ames was being loaded into Ducky's truck, the ME himself wandered over.

"Mr. Palmer will take my guest back to the Navy Yard, Jethro. I'll go with Comander Hastings, and be there when his wife arrives." He sighed heavily. "Timothy tells me that I have to look out for the usual obfuscation and prevarication from Anthony?"

"Oh, yeah, Ducky. He's already obfuscated and prevaricated plenty… he can't seriously believe I don't know he's doing it."

"He will do what he believes to be best, whatever the circumstances… usually without factoring his own health into the equation of course. Are you_ sure_ he's injured?"

"Ducky, when I asked him, he obfuscated and prevaricated. That tell ya?"

"And he's alone with a young lady who's in labour. Well… only Anthony… although I recall when I myself –"

"Ducky. I've alerted LEOs up there, they're finding a doctor and going by road. Abby's raised us a helo, and I'm sending McGee while Ziva and I run the scene. Abby's keeping a watching brief; she's hoping to establish a communications route between Tony and the medics in the aircraft. Anything else we can do?"

"I believe that's everything, Jethro. Beyond that we're in the laps of the gods." He glanced behind him, hearing a call from the ambulance. "I must go. You'll keep me informed, of course."

"You too, Ducky."

He called to Tim, who had begun processing the scene. "Ziva and I'll do that." He handed him a slim card. "This is the smart access key to the Lexus. Abby says the Medevac's about to touch down at Reagan to refuel. She'll tell you where to find it. Go with them. Go find DiNozzo."

Tim's expression was a mixture of relief, mischief and gratitude. "On my way, Boss." He ran to Astrid's $75,000 dollar car, and squealed off towards Ronald Reagan. At last he could do something about the uneasy feeling he and Tony had been sharing all day, (it was a long time since the SFA had called it the Probiegut) and he 'd waited too long already.. If things were different he could have wished for a longer drive in the luxury car… well, if he hung on to the key maybe Gibbs would let him collect it when the dust had settled.

When Abby had directed him to where the Medevac helicopter waited, he could have ground his teeth in frustration. It was dark by now, and although the S76 had flown to the airport, and landed there by night, and was refuelled and ready, some official bean counter was querying both the aircrafts instrumentation and the pilot's certification for night flying.

"You got all our records, sport," the pilot was saying down the phone in a broad Australian 'strine', as McGee hurried in. He reeled off a long stream of reference numbers, and repeated them with remarkable patience.

"Bet he's a Bruce or a Barry," Tim thought unkindly, needing to vent his impatience somehow.

"Thank you kindly," the Australian said, and put the phone down very gently. "Tim McGee? Sam Sollars." (Ouch, Tim thought.) He held out a meaty hand. "EMTs – Gino Conti, Sonja Everly. Let's be gone from here before that jobsworth finds something else to moan about. Hey, don't worry." He jerked a thumb at the Sikorsky. "She's fast, man." But fifteen minutes had been wasted, and something was still telling Tim that time wasn't their friend.

NCISNCISNCIS

They sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace, getting their breath back. After a few minutes, their eyes met. Polly laughed and said "Sheee-yut".

Tony rolled his eyes. "Holy shee-yut." He helped her to prop herself up with her back against the sofa, and pulled a cushion down to put behind her head.

"I saw that, Tony."

"Saw what?"

"The wince. The latest in a long line of winces and grunts you've been trying to camouflage."

Tony sighed, and pushed himself to his knees in front of her. He put his hand on her cheek, and his greeny-hazel gaze was steady. "I don't want you to think about them," he said calmly.

"But –"

"Look, I think that car broke my left arm. I can't deliver a baby with a splint on, so there's really nothing I can do about it. I've had worse; and the only thing that's important right now is looking after you and Lucy." For the first time, he spread his hand gently on her bump. "You're going to be fine, li'l girl, and so's your mom."

She put her hand over his and squeezed it gratefully. "Tony…"

He touched her cheek again. "Polly… go with the flow. Don't worry." A moment later she was distracted anyway, by a contraction that made her pant furiously. As she got her breath back, he said, "They teach you that, yes? At ante-natal classes?"

"Yes." (Gasp.)

"Does it help?" 

"Oh, yes. For the moment at least." She smiled gamely.

"OK…" Tony pushed himself to his feet. "I need to find some stuff. Towels?" 

"Cupboard next to the bathroom." He dashed out, and came back a few moments later with an armful.

"Stop rushing," Polly said. "You'll keel over."

"I'm fine."

She looked him in the eye. "Equine spherical objects," she said rudely, and was impressed with how instantly he caught on.

He threw his head back and laughed, although it ended in a cough. "Like it," he rasped. "Now, something to tie the cord."

Polly pointed to a sewing basket by an armchair. "Embroidery thread." She observed anxiously how he made as if to lean over, and stopped himself just in time. He bent his knees, and fetched a few hanks of pink floss out of the basket.

"Aw…" Polly said. "Pink for a girl." Her growing smile was twisted somewhat as the next contraction hit. Tony dropped to his knees beside her again, as she panted through the cramp. She gripped his good hand until she could speak again.

"Well," he said resignedly, "This is blooming quick, even by my limited knowledge. D'you reckon this is stage two?"

"I've not had a real urge to push yet…" 

"You _will_ tell me?"

"Shit, Tony, of _course_ I'll tell you. Ahh…sorry."

"S'OK. Feisty's good. D'you need drink of water? A hot drink?"

"Just water, please. I don't think I could manage tea. And Tony?" He'd pushed himself back to his feet with uncomfortable slowness, and stood looking down at her. His pallor was clear under his light tan.

"Yeah?"

"When you come back down here, _stay_ down."

"Don't worry about me, Pol."

She watched him with concern as he disappeared into the kitchen. He was right; getting her baby into the world was her first priority, and in the end, she'd push everything else aside for that. But she was growing increasingly more alarmed for the man who had saved her from her husband's abductors. She took the glass he handed her, without a word, and he said, "Stop worrying. You'll upset Lucy." She blew him a half hearted raspberry, as he set his own glass of water on the hearth. He switched the fire on low, and went back to the kitchen.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was carrying a glass bowl with hot water in it and a facecloth. He held the bowl in the crook of his good arm, and did that slow bend at the knees again. "Can you take this from me?" he asked without any particular expression, and she knew, and he knew she knew, that he'd picked it up with his bad arm in the kitchen, and couldn't do it again. He'd said don't worry, so she said nothing, as she set the bowl down near the drinking glasses, and a few moments later, the next contraction made her yelp and arch her back.

She growled, and Tony rubbed her hand gently. "Any pushing yet?" He asked, trying to sound calm, and as if he did this every day.

"I think so. A bit. When I growled."

"I er…" He went a bit pink. "I should… I mean…"

"Tony," she said plainly. "Are you a virgin or something?"

"What… er… no –"

Polly reached up under her flowy blue dress, pulled her pants off and threw them across the room. "Neither am I. Come on, tell me how I'm doing."

He nodded his acknowledgement. "I gave my hands a good scrub," he reassured her, as he folded her dress carefully back. He studied for a moment in breathless silence, and said almost reverently, "I can see Lucy's head. Polly, I can see your baby."

"Has she got hair?"

"Lots, I think. Dark brown like yours. Patch is dark, too, isn't he."

Polly nodded. "And three grandparents. How far am I dilated?" Tony looked again.

"I'm not an expert on this centimetre thing, but… so much." He held his thumb and forefinger apart. "'Bout nine, maybe? Should be ten in the end?"

"You've studied it."

"Oh, yeah. They give you a bit of theory on it when you're in cop school, but after it happened to me twice, I did some serious reading up. Next time you get a contraction, I'll see what happens." He rocked back on his knees, trying not to look as if he were wrapping his injured arm around his ribs. Polly pretended not to notice, because she was pretty certain that was what he wanted. He spread two soft, clean towels under her, and sat up again carefully. This leaning down was _not_ helping his ribs; it was like having a barbeque skewer jabbed into his side, and it made him feel slightly nauseous.

He knew it wasn't the delivery thing; after his initial feeling of impoliteness at staring at Polly's nether regions, thanks to her own down to earth attitude he was all business. But he hoped the delivery would be quick, for his own sake. Mind you, didn't he read that faster was more painful? Was there any point in all that reading he did if he couldn't remember or make up his mind? Focus, dammit. Polly was looking at him anxiously, and she began to reach her hand out to him, when the next cramp hit her hard.

She grabbed at the pile of the carpet, and gave a full throated yell. Tony was so distressed at her pain that he almost forgot what he said he'd do. He watched carefully, and saw more of Lucy's head. He wriggled closer to Polly and rubbed her back, whispering soothingly. "There now, girl… do the panting thing. See if it helps… come on, huff for me…"

They stayed like that for quite a while; not talking much, just murmured encouragement and a bit of gentle back rubbing whenever a spasm came along, until one hit that made her twist and thrash and cry out.

When the contraction ended, she collapsed against him. He realised just in time that she was going to, and managed to steel himself. She had no idea of the pain she caused him as her elbow pressed against his ribs. He held her and stroked her hair, waiting for his own world to stop spinning. After a while she sat up.

"I wanted to push then. D'you think I should?"

"You could try next time… in theory I know about pushing under the baby's head if it looks as if she's coming too fast and you're going to tear."

Polly bit her lip and nodded. "Don't want to," she said, "But if that's what it takes…" She thought for a moment. "It's a heck of a fast labour… I guess it's the stress, and the walking…"

"Or it's been going on for days… they might not have been practice contractions…hey, we're ready for it. D'you want to wipe your face?"

"Yeah. I hadn't realised I'd been sweating…"

"Ladies don't sweat, sweetheart, they simply glow." Tony handed her the facecloth, trying to look as if he always wrung them out one handed, but she dropped it again as the next wave of contractions began. Tony stayed with her, cautiously turning so his right side was towards her, holding her and rubbing her back, while she rode it out; she whimpered softly, but didn't shout out.

When he mentioned it after the contraction subsided, she said with perfect logic, "Lucy wouldn't like the noise." He smiled wryly and mopped her face for her.

The next wave brought a different reaction; no-one could say that Polly Hastings wasn't original.

"Aaarh… damn you, Patch… you sod, you are never,_ ever_ getting near me again. That's – aahhh … the last you're going to see of that bit of me ever…. You bastard, you did this… no more pussy… wait a minute… no," she was subsiding again, "No, that's not how it happened. No…"

For a moment she was amused by the puzzlement on Tony's face, then astonished at the speed with which he caught on. He remembered what Gibbs had reported of Charlie Forbes' words. 'The trouble they had conceiving'…

"Oh," he said wonderingly. "That's why you knew her sex… I'm told it's damn hard not to find out with all the tests they do… Lucy was an in-vitro fertilization. She's a test tube baby!"

"Yup", Polly said proudly. "Great uterus, lousy tubes! But we made it in the end. That's the other reason I knew Patch would never do what they said. We'd both worked too hard…" Her voice went wistful, remembering. "Four years we tried. I'm thirty-seven. We were so lucky it worked first time with the IVF… I know two really nice lasses who are nearly breaking their hearts on their third try…"

She shook herself. "Thank you for being here, Tony. Thank you for saving me, and thanks to your team for saving Patch…" She just had time to register that his eyes were as full as hers before the next cramp began. He wriggled back down to her pelvic area, and shook his head in wonder. He'd seen it before, but it was just… He stayed where he was through the next couple of contractions, talking and encouraging softly. By the third one, he was supporting the crown of Lucy's head.

Polly was gasping and moaning because there was scarcely any respite between cramps now, and she was trying to keep control. "Hey," Tony told her. "Don't mind us, just yell. I'm holding the top of her head, Pol, one more good push will do it, I'm sure…"

He prayed it would, because he had to kneel here to the bitter end; even though the more he bent the more he felt as if he'd soon be face-planting the carpet like he'd done with the grass earlier on. Nothing mattered but doing the job properly…

Polly yelled, a long, tearing scream, and Lucy's head was heavy in his hands. He was in grinding pain, but he was absolutely steady. As her mother groaned with relief, the baby started to turn onto her side; and he was glad he'd known about that in advance, or he'd have been afraid he was doing something wrong. Polly whimpered as he eased her daughter's top shoulder out of her, and then the rest of her followed with a rush. He tilted her downwards and wiped out her nose and mouth, hands trembling with emotion, and heard the tiny whoop of her first independent breath.

She didn't cry, incredible, wonderful little thing, just snuffled as he laid her carefully on her mother's stomach, head lower than body, just as the books said; and felt the tears on his face as mother and daughter met for the first time.

Tie the cord… cover mother and baby with a towel, do not attempt to pull on the umbilicus…. Polly watched him silently in between holding her baby and gazing at her. He had to keep going, there was one more thing to do… he used the top one of the towels underneath her to catch the placenta as it slid out – must keep it for the EMTs to inspect… his left arm desperately needed to be still… that was the last job done…

Polly was speaking to him, but he couldn't answer… he couldn't make out the words she was saying for the roaring in his ears… he felt as if he was maybe swaying… she was holding one hand out towards him, eyes big with concern, but she couldn't reach, and he couldn't _move_…

**AN: I've never written anything like that in my life before. OTT? Please let me know what you thought, even if it's just 'yuk'.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here's the last chapter. To Sam, HUGE thanks for the help.**

**Nat, nebbyjen and ncisfan, you weren't signed in so I couldn't reply to you personally, but thank you for your kind reviews.**

**Very small mention of events from another of my stories, but you don't have to have read it to understand the reference.**

**SMALL SECTION RE-WRITTEN. I REALISED AFTER I POSTED THAT THE INJURY I FOISTED ON TONY AT THE LAST MINUTE WOLD HAVE BEEN FAR TOO SERIOUS FOR HIM TO HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DO WHAT HE DID, SO PLEASE NOTE THE SMALL CHANGE. IT'S STILL SAPPY!**

Expecting Trouble

Chapter 7

Although his borrowed helmet insulated him from most of the noise, and although the S76 was one of the quietest and smoothest helicopters around, Tim was aware of the thrum and the strong vibration, and kept the snarky thought to himself that if he ever needed a medevac, he hoped it wasn't a chopper.

The team had given him more information about themselves; Sam said he'd been RAAF, and didn't know the first thing about medicine, but he knew how to hold an IV bag.

"He has his uses," Sonja said. "He can fly into a hose-pipe and out the other end, and he can land on a mushroom without breaking the stalk."

Sam made deprecating noises. "Oh," he said, "I did get stuck in a hose-pipe once." Tim smiled to himself. He'd remember Sonja's colourful description and use it one day; in the mean time, it was a ringing endorsement of the pilot's abilities. The cheerful camaraderie reminded him of his own team, and he squashed down the anxiety.

Sonja went on, "The thing is, ol' Flyboy only has to dish out the odd band-aid… doesn't have to do the medic bit. We, on the other hand, have to double as flyers. Gino's the navigator. I have to operate the Nightsun, and the cameras."

"I didn't know a medical helicopter carried them," Tim said.

"Not the big things like the police crews use, but they're useful. We've got a small FLIR… if someone's injured out in woodland, say, it's sometimes the only way to find them."

Tim nodded, remembering the hunt they'd made for Owen Saxon, the toddler abandoned in the woods a while back, and thought of how that case had almost broken Tony's heart. His stomach lurched. "If Tony and Mrs. Hastings didn't get back as far as the house, we may need it ourselves," he mused.

He was wound up with anxiety for both of them. Much as he and Tony respected each other, (little as they'd ever say so,) he seriously doubted that the SFA knew the first thing about delivering a baby. He was well aware of the guy's ability to blag when the situation called for it, and since yelling for help couldn't have got it there any quicker, he guessed that he'd told Gibbs that stunner to stop him from worrying. To be fair on Tim, he hadn't heard the utter calmness in Tony's voice when he'd said it.

He was also aware of Tony's legendary ability to hide the truth where his own health was concerned, and his equally famed habit of ignoring it. He thought of his own Mom, and her uncanny way of knowing when he or Sarah were simply trying to get a day off school, or when to hug, or even call the doctor. He thought that Tony had gone most of his life without anybody to even notice how he was feeling, and wondered how long it would take before his friend realised that these days there were people who really did care – who he didn't _have_ to pretend to. He realised he'd spaced out for a moment, and Sam was trying to get his attention.

"Hey, Tim… don't worry. Gino's drawn a simply _lovely_ straight line here… reckon we're only about ten minutes out now. Got your Miss Sciuto on the horn, wants a word."

"Tim… I've been trying to reach Mrs. Hastings on her house landline… Gibbs said you might want to talk to Tony to let him know when you were near, or he might need the medics to tell him what to do, because Gibbs said he was delivering a baby, but he already knew the baby's name, so that can't be right, and I rang and rang but there's no answer. But Tony's cell locator says they're there…"

"Why not just _ring_ Tony's cell?"

"The land line's more stable, especially for trying to connect with you in the aircraft. But I'm about to try now, Tim, so I needed to let you know."

"OK, Abs, thanks. Go ahead… I'm listening."

They waited… the ring tone sounded in their head sets; a lonely beacon in the night. They waited, and waited. Abby was just saying, "Shall I stop, Tim?" when there came a crackle, and a woman's voice said, "Hello… er… McGee?"

NCISNCISNCIS

Two beautiful cornflower blue eyes were regarding him solemnly. He had to take some time to figure that out. Someone was stroking his hair very gently, but it couldn't be the owner of the lovely blue eyes… He worked it out. He seemed to have fallen on his right side, thank heaven for that, and he was lying alongside Polly. Lucy, lying peacefully across her mother's lap, had her head turned towards him. He knew that new-born babies couldn't focus their eyes yet, but at least it _looked_ as if she were watching him. And her eyes truly were the most beautiful shade of blue.

"Hello, Miss Hastings… pleased to meet you," he rasped faintly, immediately paying the price for speaking in stabbing pain.

"Tony?" The hand stroking his hair stilled, and he eased his head round so he cold look up into Polly's face. "How are you?"

He thought about it. "I'll be OK," he said finally, and smiled because he knew he would, and there was no point in talking about just how much he wasn't OK at that moment.

He began to sit up, but she said softly, "No," and put the hand that had been in his hair on his chest. She waited to see if he'd subside, because she didn't know just where his injuries were, and she didn't want to push. In the end, he did, lowering himself back with a sigh. "You don't need to move, everything's fine. We don't need anything. Just rest, Tony. God knows you've earned it."

"She'll be hungry soon…" he said vaguely.

"I've thought of that… but I've no milk yet because she's early… there's some emergency formula in the kitchen –"

"I noticed…"

"Yes, well," Polly said with some asperity, "We tried to think of everything… like an emergency midwife who was hit by a car while saving me from a bunch of crazy drug-stealing crooks… we had that one covered. If Lucy starts to squawk, _I'll _get up and fetch it."

"No…"

"Oh, yes. I'm far better off than you, fact." She looked wonderingly at her brand new daughter, who snuffled contentedly. "Irrelevant anyway, until Lucy tells us it's not."

"Mmm…" Now it was Tony's turn to look at the little miracle. "How long was I out?"

"I saw you were going to pass out – I did manage to slow you down a bit so you didn't hit the floor too hard… but I could only use one arm… You started to come round again as soon as you were lying down and still. Which is why I want you to stay there. Broken arm my ass… broken arm and how many ribs?" The hand that was still holding him down took hold of a fistful of his shirt on the left side, before he could protest, and pulled it out of the waistband of his trousers. She hauled it up, and swore. "Sorry, Lucy… got to watch my language now…" She hid behind levity, but her eyes were shocked and mad.

"What's up?"

"What's up? You should have _said! _There's a wing-mirror shaped dent in you… it's as clear as if I'd drawn it on with a sharpie. And it's black and blue. Tony, you don't move from there until the medics say you can."

"Couldn't tell you, Pol… you'd only have worried. What else?"

The house phone rang, and Polly closed her eyes momentarily in relief. She didn't have to answer. She made a move to get up, hugging Lucy in close, but this time Tony said "No. If it's Mrs. Obama ringing up to chat about lunch on the White House lawn, she'll call back. Where's my cell phone?"

Polly reached up to his jacket, lying on the sofa. "It's here. If it's your friends, they'll call it next?"

"Right. Now, Pol, what else?"

"Swelling, hard to the touch, internal bleeding I'd say… broken end of rib - or ribs - doing something nasty?"

"Oh, shit."

She touched his face gently. "I don't know how you even _drove_! Damn it all, I don't know how you walked here, I don't know how you fetched the towels, I don't know how you delivered Lucy…" Tears ran down her face. Tony put his hand down very gingerly to touch the area… and grimaced. He reached up to touch her tears, and Lucy snuffled close to his face. His cell rang. Polly snatched it up with a glare. She read the caller ID. "Hello…er… McGee?"

"Oh… er, Mrs. Hastings? Yes, I'm Special Agent Tim McGee. Mrs. Hastings, how are you?"

"I'm doing fine, Special Agent McGee –"

"Tim. I have a team of paramedics with me, we're pretty close now… how advanced is your labour?"

He was getting this all wrong, he knew… he needed to talk to Tony first… anxiety was making him think sideways.

"It's OK, Tim… I'm not in labour any more." Tim's eyebrows went up. "But –" He heard a murmur, and Polly went on, "Tony says shush and I should start at the beginning." The stumbling voice on the other end of the airwaves went quiet as she told the story so far, and as she got to the end of reassuring the riders in the approaching helicopter that she and her baby were fine, Tony attempted to reach for the phone.

"Oh, no you don't, DiNozzo. _I'll_ tell him." Again, up in the air, Tim heard that murmur, but Polly Hastings' voice continued. "Can the EMTs hear me?" Three affirmatives winged their way together. "Right. Tony has a broken arm, which he did confess to, and at least one broken rib and internal bleeding –" There was a murmur of alarm from the medics, and Tim bit his lip. With Tony's history that wasn't good – "Which he didn't mention."

Tim heard his SFA's voice again, and this time the words were clear enough. "I didn't know!" The protest was followed by a yelp of pain, and Polly Hastings' voice came back very sharply.

Down on the ground, she had laid the phone on the sofa by her head, so she could cuddle Lucy with one arm, and hold Tony's hand with the other, as his head twisted in pain. "I can hear the helicopter, Agent McGee… you just need to get down here quickly. Lucy's fine, I'm fine; Tony's getting worse. I need to go."

She didn't bother to switch the phone off, but turned all her attention to her rescuer, by now sorely in need of rescue himself. Her movement was restricted, as Lucy was still attached to the placenta which was wrapped in the towel by her knees, but she turned halfway onto her side, and leaned over to put her hand against the section of ribs that were loose. She didn't want to press on it, for fear of hurting him more, or pushing the broken end further in. As far as she could tell his laboured breathing was because of the pain; she didn't_ think_ the lung was compromised. Lord, she hoped not.

"Thanks, Pol…" She saw rather than heard what he said; the clatter of the approaching helicopter had grown deafening, and a bright light swept over them; it seemed only moments later that a young man and two people in green flying suits ran in.

They went to Tony first, and he waved them away irritably. "Look after the girls first…" The EMTs weren't happy, but Tim had warned them, so they did, leaving Tim to drop to his friend's side and splint his ribs with the palms of both hands.

"Knew you'd say that," Tim almost snapped at his friend.

Tony just gave a wry shrug. "Would you have put yourself before that cute little scrap? Course not."

"Yeah… OK. I'll stop snarking, you stop talking."

Tony shook his head. "One thing. Tell me…"

"The whole story. You want to hear how I punched a sweet old lady and stole her car…."

Tony's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah, McTearaway. The whole story."

Tim smiled. The Probiegut was quiet at last. "Well…"

There was even an argument about the journey back. Local LEOs arrived with a Glenelg MD and a road ambulance; and it was agreed that Polly and her daughter should go to Bethesda in that, with the doctor to look after them. Tony dug his heels in. He didn't think his need for medical help was more urgent than Polly's, and anyway, she'd want to be reunited with her husband.

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, until Polly took over. About to be lifted onto one gurney, she wobbled to her feet, still cuddling Lucy, and marched over to where Tony lay on the one that belonged to the air ambulance. She glared down at him. "Just quit it, DiNozzo! I hate helicopters, you won't get me in one! D'you want to go by road, and bleed all the way to Bethesda? End of debate. Now stop arguing and get gone!"

The green eyes regarded her with astonishment, then he grinned lazily. "OK, sweetheart. Race you there."

She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Look after yourself, Tony."

NCISNCISNCIS

He woke up with the usual collection of tubes and wires, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Ah… ow! Chest drain. Lovely. Well… no nasty piece of plastic shoved down his throat at least. He could smell vanilla and flowers, and said "Ziva", before he opened his eyes. She smiled.

"I will tell the others you are awake," she said.

"They're all here? That's nice."

Ziva looked back with a wicked grin as she reached the door.

"The whole of NCIS is waiting to hear about Sister DiNozzo, the midwife, Tony." He rolled his eyes, but as she left he smiled to himself. It had been worth it. Tim would call him 'nurse', and he'd call him 'McMachoman' back, and it had all been _worth it._

The next morning he had a visitor. Well, three. The entire Hastings family were being discharged together. Tony was both glad and sad that he hadn't been there to witness the Lieutenant Commander's reunion with his family. Patch Hastings shook his hand, and couldn't seem to find the words beyond a sincere 'thank you', but that wasn't a problem. Anything more would have been seriously embarrassing.

Polly put her daughter on the undamaged side of Tony's chest, and he cradled her with his good arm, fighting the huge lump in his throat at being able to hold her properly. She blew bubbles, and listened gravely to the nonsense he whispered to her. He studied her tiny face as she lay in the circle of his arm, and the tug at his heart was indescribable. He'd fought for this little girl's life, and he knew he was going to have to put aside very firmly the bond he felt with both her and her mother. He wasn't entitled to either. And then, as they were leaving, Polly floored him.

"I just thought you might like to know… we were going to call her Lucy Estelle… bright star… but we changed our minds. She's Lucy Aiden Antonia. Bright little fire, beyond price. And when she's older, we'll tell her why. Beyond price, Tony… because that's what you are."

When Tim came in to see him later, he could have sworn his friend had been crying.

**AN: And there she finished, on another wave of sappiness. Sometimes I just can't help myself. Thank you all for sticking with me. You're real pals.**


End file.
